


Leave Her Johnny, Leave her

by Emberxashton



Series: Hanging on the Old Barbed Wire [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool (Movieverse), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Mob, BAMF Wanda Maximoff, Bottom Matt Murdock, Claire Temple is So Done, Dom Frank Castle, F/M, Hell’s Kitchen, Jessica Jones Swears, Jessica Jones is a Good Bro, Mafia AU, Mentioned Peter Parker, Minor Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Not Beta Read, Pietro Maximoff is a Little Shit, Quickies, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Vladimir Ranskahov Lives, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29413539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emberxashton/pseuds/Emberxashton
Summary: A day in the life of Hell’s Kitchen after (another) riot.More tags, relationships, and such to be added as series continues.
Relationships: Amy Bendix & Frank Castle, Frank Castle/Matt Murdock, Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Vladimir Ranskahov/Wanda Maximoff
Series: Hanging on the Old Barbed Wire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074641
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	Leave Her Johnny, Leave her

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for tuning in to read this fic! Fair warning, if you’ve not read the series “Roaring Hot” you’re probably going to want to read that first before you dive into this because this is a spin off of that series. It might as a stand alone, but I strongly suggest you read that wonderful and awesome series first just you’ll understand roughly what’s going on first. 
> 
> Otherwise, thank you so much for tuning in and I hope you guys enjoy the work! 😄
> 
> P.S. there is some non-con stuff, but it’s super minor and gets handled very quickly. Also, there are some descriptions of violence and the aftermath of violence, but it’s not gory so it should be safe. 
> 
> Thanks again!

_ HANGING ON THE OLD BARBED WIRE _

There’s no place like Hell’s Kitchen. Any place that claimed to be were already dead, abandoned, and forgotten by history. Any other place would have burned itself out by now, or burned down by someone else. Not there though. Not Hell’s Kitchen. It stayed standing. Despite the violence from within, the violence from the outside, and all the depravity and cruel evils in between. The aptly named Hell’s Kitchen remained, and not even it’s citizens could say why. 

Perhaps it’s the people. The rough and hardened lot who fought, drank, and fucked more than they ate, worked, or slept. Perhaps it was the buildings, the ones that stayed standing throughout all the damage they sustained, even with shawty craftsmanship and cheap supplies. Perhaps it’s something more. Something dark and unseen that keeps the neighborhood alive and thriving out of pure spite, or maybe out of enjoyment? Watching the citizens scratch and drunkenly crawl through the streets, fight tooth and nail for a loaf of bread. No one knows. No one really cares. All they know, and want to know, is that Hell’s Kitchen is their home. The home they were born in, the one they will die in, and the one no outsider gets to take a piece of.

No fucking chance.

When word got around about The Butcher’s heir going missing, no one batted an eye. Why would they care? The Butcher probably scared his newest trinket, and now the boy was foolhardy enough to try running from him and the Stark Family. Dumb. Pure dumb. Everyone knew he’d be back with The Butcher before nightfall, and taking a punishment the dames at the brothels would be yamming about for years to come. No one cared. Let the dumb rich boy get what’s coming to him.

Then the word changed, and so did everyone’s opinion in Hell’s Kitchen. The heir wasn’t just missing, he was spotted. Spotted by a few Irishmen walking home after a long day’s work. Spotted him running through the streets and heading towards a construction sight. The streets and construction site that were inconveniently in Hell’s Kitchen, which meant one thing. 

The boy. The rich, dumb boy. The Butcher’s heir, and future of the family, is in Hell’s Kitchen. He’s  _ in  _ Hell’s Kitchen. If he’s there, and word’s got out that he’s there, that means it’s only a matter of time before The Butcher hears, and comes to collect. The people remember both instances The Butcher took a walk through Hell’s Kitchen. Remembered the death, the blood, the fires lit everywhere and the bodies splayed in the dirt. They remembered it. They doubted they could ever forget it.

And now he’ll come back for the boy.

Most of the people were furious. Enraged. Bitter and hateful towards the Devil in charge for all the things he’s done to them. Excited. Eager. The Butcher’s heir is here, and he’s nothing like the Butcher at all. He’ll be easy. Easy to hurt, easy to maim, easy to make an example of. 

If only Daredevil and The Punisher hadn’t gotten involved, that boy would have been flayed and splayed all along the dirt by now.

The people of Hell’s Kitchen wanted to see the boy scream, to see him cry and shriek for his Butcher, to see the light leave his eyes as they each took a turn introducing their knives to him. Over and over and over again. The people were consumed with their vengeance and bloodlust. Blinded by it too. 

However, just like the crew at Nelson and Murdock, there were a few in Hell’s Kitchen who wanted the very opposite from their fellow people. A few that know how to stick to the shadows, pretend to be part of the blood hungry crowd, and offer aid to those who need it most. Like when Nelson and Murdock went up in flames, Frank wasn’t pulled out by the crowd. He was pulled out by an ally who quickly shielded him and hid him in a nearby alley. A mysterious ally whom he trusted with his life.

Even though Frank would have preferred to kill him most days. 

“Jesus!” Frank coughed, pushing himself off the dirty ground, quickly rubbing the soot off his face. 

“Nope, just Wade. Unless our neighborhood pastor who’s currently burning alive in your law firm has steered me wrong, I believe Jesus died on the cross for all our sins. It is  _ so _ nice of you to think I’d be just as sacrificial though. Really warms the heart, and some other parts too.”

Standing tall and proud, a man named Wade Wilson twirled a pair of knives in both hands, and wore a smug smile as he stared the gruff Frank down. He was a little taller than Frank, much leaner, and wielded his knives with deadly precision. He wore dark work pants with suspenders, a similar pair of shoes, and a white undershirt that was already stained with blood. Though the darkened alley quickly filled with smoke from the burning building, Frank couldn’t miss the outline of Wade’s infamous swords through Wade’s pants.

Frank gestured to them with a bloody hand, cuts exposed along his knuckle. “Forget about your swords? Could really use those right now.”

“We could, but then everyone would figure out who the allusive Deadpool is, and I’m not in the mood to chop people’s heads off tonight. Maybe tomorrow at the Ranskahov fight?” He put the knife to his lips, pondering the quelling decision before shrugging. “Oh well, where’s the kid?”

“Inside!” Shouted a voice from behind them. Frank and Wade turned just in time to see Matt knock out a mook with an undercut. Breath coming fast and deep, chest heaving as he charged towards the pair. “I gave Jessica the signal, she’s getting them out right now!”

“Let’s round about and give them a hand,” Frank growled, turning to move towards the alley behind their building.

“No!” Matt stopped him. “Karen and Jessica can handle it. We need to head towards Claire’s. Pietro Maximoff is helping Danny and Luke protect their bar a few blocks away.”

Frank’s eyes bulged, “where’s Wanda? And why are we heading that way?”

“Wanda got most of these mooks to follow her,” Matt cut in before Wade could comment, “make ‘em think she’s The Butcher’s heir by dressing up in those fancy clothes Pietro stole last week. He was doing the same before he got interrupted.”

Wade whistled. “Based on the lack of an angry mob right now, I’m going to say they succeeded.”

“They did,” Matt confirmed with a nod, “heard Wanda run through the construction site not long ago. Lot of people were following her. My guess is she’s heading to the river, and hopefully lose them there too. Pietro, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky.” He took a deep, exasperated breath. “We have to go, now.”

“Why are we heading to Luke’s bar and not helping Jessica with Peter?”

“Peter? That’s a nice name.” Wade commented while Matt stated in a rushed tone, “because the people attacking are Barnes and Harley Stark.” He paused, turning his head slightly, taking a moment to listen. “It sounds like Ben Grimm and Johnny Storm of the Fantastic are there too.” He pointed to Frank. “I’ll need you to reason with Ben while I handle the rest. You and The Wolf don’t exactly get along, and we don’t need the extra fight right now. With Pietro in the mix, him and his temper will give us all that we can handle.” 

“Fuck,” Frank growled, but made no other response. 

“What do you need me to do?” Wade waved his knives. 

Matt gestured towards Wades pockets. “Put on the mask, and pull out your swords. Deadpool’s the only hope we have of surviving the night.”

With a twirl, Wade sheathed his knives in his waistband and reached into his back pocket. “Goodbye burn victim, hello Jack the Ripper.”

Matt grated his teeth. “Only kill the ones Jessica says deserve it. Understand?”

“Aye aye Captain.” Wade pulled out a red and black cloth that was crudely stitched together, winking at the two men before pulling it over his face and patting it down. “You know, you should take control more often. The little guy between my legs just loves how manly you’re being right now.”

“Fuck off Wade,” Frank growled.

“As you wish,” he gave the two men a bow, then pulled out the swords tucked into the sides of his pants. “See you at dawn.”

Then the trio of men sprinted away from the burning law firm. Matt and Frank heading towards Luke’s bar, and Deadpool heading back to the burning building. 

~  **HOURS LATER** ~

Hell’s Kitchen once more became a literal Hell on earth throughout the rest of the night. Buildings burned. Drunken laughter rose with the smoke. Red painted the dirt. Citizens fell only to never get back up. The night was not kind to those who gave into their rage and enacted their violent urges, nor was the dawn as it shined a light on what was left after it ended. 

People wandered idly, surveying the damage with expressions that mostly appeared impassive. Unsurprised. An expression that clearly stated how used to seeing such a sight as this morning. A sight that is far too common an occurrence in this burrough. What’s a morning in Hell’s Kitchen without seeing someone standing outside what used to be their home or livelihood resorted to ashes and cinders? 

A rare one.

This morning was no different. The people stood and stared at the smoldering heaps of buildings, glancing over the fallen forms laying in the streets, and for a good while simply stood and continued to stare. Then, shortly after the sun truly began to rise, the idle people began to move, and pick up the pieces. 

The first of which to do so was a boy called Wayne. Only Wayne wasn’t a boy. He was a woman. A woman who wore men’s clothes much like Jessica Jones, who worked alongside the Private Investigator now and again to earn some extra dough on top of her job as the resident jack of all trades, who masqueraded as a man because it was easier to go unnoticed.  _ Wayne  _ didn’t want to be seen, she wanted to blend. Needed to blend. Not to hide, she wasn’t a coward, but to sneak. To immerse herself into the crowd in order to achieve what she did best. 

Learn secrets, find missing people, and attack from the shadows.

_ Wayne _ is actually Wanda. Something only The Defender’s and mutual friends knew about, or so she wholeheartedly believed. The same woman who pretended to be Peter Stark just last night. The woman who managed to draw most of the horde well away from Nelson and Murdock and lose them at the bridge is the same woman who was currently rolling up her sleeves and walking through the red dirt towards the nearest still form in the street. Wanda Maximoff, the younger twin to Pietro Maximoff, walked with a purpose, and no one dared to interrupt her. Well, didn’t dare to interrupt  _ Wayne _ .

She stripped out of the fancy clothes she wore to draw away the crowd, switching back to her usual set after the worst of the riots finally managed to calm down shortly before dawn. She and her brother had a spare set of clothes over at Danny and Luke’s home above their  _ real estate _ office -their bar- that was only a few blocks away, so it was a quick trip. Trading out the fancy black shoes for her scuffed and worn brown boots. The finely stitched and tailored grey pants switched with her brown trousers. The now dirty white, linen shirt for her own sturdier and surprisingly cleaner white shirt. The soft, grey cap for her stitched and re-stitched brown cap. The only thing she kept were the fancy black suspenders since her own were broken. Apart from that, everything was folded and placed on a chair before heading back out into the smoky morning. 

After that, she decided to wait in the alley in front of Claire’s home alongside her brother, Pietro, until the immediate danger from last night was gone. Danny and Luke lurked in the shadows of another alley nearby, along with her friend Wade. She couldn’t hear nearly as well as Matt, but it was hard to miss the sound of his knives striking the brick mortar of the building not far from her. It made her smile. Most people didn’t like Wade, and would have him killed if they realized who he really was, but Wanda found him comforting. He wasn’t like other people, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Wanda wasn’t like other people either, and it made her feel good, safe to know there was another who wouldn’t succumb to other’s expectations. 

Most didn’t know that  _ Wayne _ was actually Wanda, and she preferred it that way. If people found out, she’d be hanged or forced to act like a lady. Ladies that were taught to be objects up for sale and trade, treated like property instead of living beings. She’d rather die than allow anyone to treat her that way. If anyone ever tried to sell or trade Wanda, attempt to treat her as property, she’d take Wade’s knives and cut their throats. Watching the red soak their clothes, soak the ground as their knees landed in it, and the rest of them quickly followed.

She’s no one’s property, and she’ll kill anyone who tries to make her or brother so.

Pietro didn’t bother to change out of the fancy clothes he stole, a matching set to the ones she stripped and folded away. He didn’t pay much attention to them anyway. All his attention, along with hers, was on the men pacing outside Claire’s home. 

The immediate danger that lingered in the neighborhood.

The Twins have seen these men in action before. The Wolf in particular. He was a weapon, a specially made Stark gun loaded and ready, without his safety in the form of The Captain to keep him from murdering everyone in sight. Then again, based on how things played out thus far, maybe the Wolf found a new safety. 

The boy the Twins and company stuck their necks out for. 

The Wolf, menacing and intimidating, stood resolute and fierce while Harley Stark, better known as the Hellcat, paced up and down the path. Eyes searching every shadow, every potential movement, anything his eyes could see. He wouldn’t be able to see Wanda or Pietro, nor the rest of the crew who hid in the shadows. In Hell’s Kitchen, the shadows were either your death or your savior, and they weren’t dead yet. They knew how to hide when it suited them, and there was no better time than now. None of them, not even Wade, wanted to fight the Hellcat and the Wolf. Not after last night, not with what they still needed to do this morning. 

Move the dead. 

Wanda watched Stark’s Devils glare and pace, barely sparing Frank a glance when he exited Claire’s home with the boy. She wasn’t interested in the baby prince. He posed no threat or danger to Frank or any of the crew. Her interest was in the two men who instantly shifted at the boy’s presence. The Hellcat stopped pacing, choosing to twitch and flinch in place. The Wolf turned his body slightly, wanting to keep the boy in sight. Wanda cocked an eyebrow at that. 

A new safety indeed. 

For a reason she couldn’t explain, Wanda knew the danger the two presented had past. With the boy in view, and their ride incoming, she knew it was time to move. They were leaving, they wouldn’t bother their crew again. At least, she hoped they wouldn’t. All the same, she was no longer needed. 

So, she moved from the shadows, and walked away through the red dirt without so much as a glance to the threat behind her. 

As Wanda began picking up the first body, Danny Rand and Luke Cage quickly came to her aid. With them, the rest of the idle people standing among the shadows joined them. Pietro, however, stayed still. Along with Wade, but no one apart from Wanda even realized he was there. 

Though Wanda believed the threat to have passed, Pietro felt the threat grow. The boy wasn’t a boy in his opinion, but an object. A treasure that got loose from the Stark’s greedy hands, and they’ll do anything to snatch him back up. He feared for the boy, for Peter. He feared the Wolf and his Hellcat will be back by nightfall with all the men the Stark’s can amass, and finally burn this neighborhood to the ground once and for all. He feared for his sister, for his friends, for the surrogate family they’ve managed to create. He feared, and it enraged him.

Gnashing his teeth, clenching his fists until the knuckles went white, Pietro seethed in the shadows. Watching the Stark Devils with a rage that only grew as the morning went on, and on, and on until their ride finally showed up. Johnny Storm in the passenger seat, Ben Grimm driving. Two more people Pietro hated with a passion. Jessica might be able to swallow her pride and work with them after all they’ve done to Hell’s Kitchen and it’s people, along with Wanda who worked with her sometimes, but Pietro never could. He doesn’t forgive. He doesn’t forget. He doesn’t push away his feelings or his pride. Pietro doesn’t back down. He gets even.

And someday, he will. 

The boy, or rather the Stark’s prized possession, was shuffled into the fancy car between the Hellcat and the Wolf. The boy wouldn’t take his eyes off Frank, who gave him a surly nod as the car drove away. Pietro’s brow furrowed at that. What’s going on? Why’s Frank nodding to the Stark’s? 

Pietro only emerged from the shadows as the car drove off, completely unaware of Wade slipping behind him in order to follow it. His entire focus was on Frank, and now Matt who emerged in the doorway. 

“What the fuck, Frank?” Pietro growled, charging up to the gruff giant standing on the porch, craning his neck to look him in the eye. “Cozying up with the Stark’s?”

“Go help your sister,” Frank turned his firm gaze onto Pietro, “and then meet back here with the rest of the crew.”

“You gonna move into their mansion now,” Pietro continued as if Frank hadn’t spoken, “act as their hitman while the Widow and her Hawk are away?”

Frank’s hand shot out to grab the front of Pietro’s shirt, pulling him against his chest. Eyes ice cold. “Help your sister, or spend the morning drooling on the floor.”

“A fucking turncoat,” Pietro spat, “just like the rest of them-”

“Enough,” Matt interrupted in a calm, soothing tone. Placing a hand on their shoulders, gently easing them apart. “It’s been a long night, and this morning won’t be any easier. We have some news to share with you and the rest of the crew, but for now we need to pick up the dead before the wrong sort come rolling through here. Alright?” Matt pushed Pietro out of Frank’s grip, who let him go easily, and moved to stand between the two as both hands settled on Pietro’s shoulders. Voice softening to almost a whisper. “No one’s siding with the Stark’s. Defenders to the end. Remember?” Hands squeezed, a sharp exhale from Pietro. “No one’s turning on you.”

Pietro took a deep breath, closing his eyes and leaning forward. Matt pulled him into a hug, fingers carding through his hair for a brief moment. “It’s going to work out, Pietro. They’re not coming back. We’re safe for now.”

“Nothing’s gonna get you kid,” Frank added in his gruff tone. “That sister of yours will slit their throats before anyone touches you again.”

Pietro chuckled at that, mumbling into Matt’s shirt. “She’ll bash their heads in for even thinking about it.”

“Damn right,” Matt smiled, “just ask Vladimir when he thought you were up for grabs at the brothel a few months ago. Hasn’t come near you since.”

“Hell,” Frank cackled, “he keeps trying to give her a job.”

“Too bad she doesn’t approve of gun running and the fighting rings.” Pietro lifted his head, straightening his back as he pulled away slightly. “Didn’t he ask her to marry him?”

“Only when he found out your 18th birthday isn't too far off.” Matt released Pietro, arms crossing over his chest. “So, about 5 times.”

“Didn’t he get her a ring?” Pietro grinned.

“I’d put money on it,” Frank shrugged, “man’s head over heels. Never met a soul who was willing to defend their own brother as fiercely as he is until he met her. I doubt he’ll ever stop asking until he’s buried six feet under. Even if he finds out she’s the mysterious  _ Wayne _ who keeps messing up his gun drops.”

“His grave won’t be too far off if he  _ keeps  _ asking,” Matt smirked, nudging Frank with his elbow. “Right Frank?”

“Damn straight,” he popped his knuckles. 

The three chuckled at that, and then there was silence. Brief, intense, and awkward silence.

“Sorry I yelled at you,” Pietro grated, “I just-”

“I know,” Frank cut in, “I’m trying to keep everyone safe and alive too. You never have to worry about that.”

Pietro sighed, eyes suddenly on their shoes. “What’s going on, Frank? What happened?”

“Go help your sister before the cops come through for their rounds,” Matt gestured to the street, “and grab everyone once you’re done. When we’re all together, Frank and I will fill you in.”

“Alright,” Pietro raised his hands in defeat. “Alright.”

He turned away and headed towards the patch of wet, red dirt where Wanda, Luke, and Danny were carrying bodies to the front of an abandoned shop. Frank and Matt stood side by side. Frank watching with a grim look, Matt listening with a frown. “How do you think they’ll take the news?”

Matt took a deep breath. “Wade won’t care, neither will Danny as long as he and Luke aren’t too affected by it. They’ll help, but they’re not going to want to be essential. They get enough trouble just from being business partners due to Luke’s skin color. Add in the cake eater rumors that just so happen to be true, and those two are practically skipping to the gallows. Make ‘em part of this, we may as well tie the noose ourselves. Wanda will understand after we explain the why’s, the how’s, and what will come of it. She’ll help get Pietro behind it. It’ll take time, but we’ll get his support eventually.”

“What about Vladimir and Anatoly? Wade’s people? Mahoney and his department?”

“Vladimir will pose a problem since he’s still dealing with Fisk on the side, Sister Margaret’s won’t care unless Wade gets involved in the wrong way, and Foggy can handle Mahoney with Karen as backup.”

“Cottonmouth?” Frank added offhandedly.

“As long as it doesn’t land at his feet, he won’t be a problem.”

“So, if this goes through and take Hell’s Kitchen for ourselves, we’ll take the fighting rings from the Ranskahov’s, bolster up Sister Margaret’s so they can do protection detail outside of their regular hits, and then provide more men to Cottonmouth as a sign of good faith to help move his product to the docks for transport.”

“New Orleans loves his whiskey,” Matt shrugged.

“They love anything that keeps the party going.”

“Don’t we all?” A soft voice sounded from behind the men, startling Frank the slightest bit while Matt stayed cool as a cucumber. 

“Hello Claire,” he greeted politely. “Thank you for last night.”

“Of course,” she moved to stand between the men, wiping her hands on her bloody apron. “Though I could definitely do without The Stark’s barging in and threatening to fill my home full of holes and bodies. Certainly not the calmest night of my life. The kid was great though. I kind of wish the Stark’s didn’t find him. He’d be great around here.”

“He’s an outsider,” Matt sighed, frowning deepening. “He’d get eaten alive.”

“I was referring to the Defenders, not the neighborhood.” Claire gently scolded. “Besides, the Twins seem to manage. Why couldn’t he?”

“The Twins are a special case,” Frank interjected. “Wanda doesn’t talk and goes by Wayne, which everyone is stupid or drunk enough to believe. Can kill you in a second, and sees your whole life story just by looking at you. Pietro’s mind is a jumble of bad memories that sends him off fighting things that haven’t been around since he could barely stand, and is way too fast to catch when he’s running from those same ghosts. They’re the right kind of wrong for Hell’s Kitchen.”

“It helps that their mom works at the brothel next to Sister Margaret’s.” Matt shook his head. “All the men’s favorite whore. Cheap, willing, and great on her knees.”

“Unfortunately,” Claire growled, “please tell me they have somewhere else to go tonight? Pietro shouldn’t be around that, and neither should Wanda. That’s why they were staying with you guys at the law firm. I’d love to take them, but with you two, Foggy, Karen, and all my patients upstairs, I just don’t have the room.”

Matt shrugged once more, “Danny and Luke would be willing to take them, Al over at Sister Margaret’s would to-”

“They’re staying with Amy,” Frank interrupted with a grunt. “Curtis and I got her place fixed and fortified after the last big riot. Just finished up a few days ago. Wanda’s been helping her move back in. It’ll be a tight fit, but The Twins can stay there until the bar is rebuilt.”

“Sounds good. Jessica lives nearby at her office. She can keep an eye on them. Help Wanda keep Pietro out of big trouble, and ward off any unsavory characters too.” Claire approved, a small smile appearing. “Will Amy be part of this?”

“I’m gonna call her, fill her in on what’s going on. We’re going to need her for future negotiations. It’s easier for her to go unnoticed with someone like him than me, or Matt when he decides to scrap in the fighting ring with the big boys.”

Matt grinned. “Got to stay in shape somehow.”

Frank reached out and grabbed the other man’s ass in a tight, bruising grip. “I got better ways to keep you in shape.” 

“Just let me know when Lieutenant Castle,” Matt tilted his head towards Frank, “or it Punisher?”

“After the meeting’s over,” Frank tightened his grip, earning a muted moan from Matt and an amused scoff -  _ I’m right here boys _ \- from Claire, “in the basement.”

Matt lost his smirk. “If you heard what the Hellcat was trying to do to Peter down there, you would have bashed his skull in without a second thought.”

Frank paused, releasing his grip on Matt’s ass. “Really? With everyone listening in? With  _ you _ listening in?”

“He was too desperate to think about anyone except his own needs,” Matt growled. “I’m surprised Peter was able to hold him back for as long as he did.

“Sounds like someone’s jealous of the Devil Prince with how you keep calling the kid  _ Peter  _ and all that,” Claire cocked an eyebrow. “Get attached to him already?”

Matt nodded. “Hard not to.”

“I guess,” Claire sighed, expression concerned. “That’s playing with fire Matt, longing after one of Tony Stark’s Angels. His Angel Prince in fact. The Prince who’s going to be under lock and key, double protection, and all sorts of things I can’t even imagine after what went down last night. You’re not called Daredevil for nothing, I know that, we all know that, but this isn’t some foolhardy challenge filled with dumb luck and quick thinking. It’s not a risk that  _ could _ get you killed. This is suicide. Pure suicide. Death looking you in the face and warning you not to cross that line.” 

Claire reached out, grabbing his face in her gentle grasp. Though he couldn’t see her, his eyes flitted across her face. All his attention on her. “Don’t tempt this fate. Don’t push it. Don’t dare. The kid’s not for you. All you can do is keep an eye on him and protect him when he needs it most. Okay? Please, just don’t.”

Matt didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. Her plea was heard, and he was going to take it to heart. For the moment, anyway. Meanwhile, Frank had enough. He grabbed the back of Matt’s neck, turned them, and shoved the other man back into the house. 

“He needs a good pounding, help settle him a bit. Hopefully it won’t be too long. Let me know how many bodies there are. I’ll call Curtis and we’ll handle it together.”

“Don’t push him too hard,” Claire pointed at Matt, “I need him walking for when he covers my rounds tonight.”

“Him and I both,” Frank nodded, his blunt vow making Claire smile. “No way we’re letting you work after what you did for us last night.”

“And people call you the Punisher,” Claire winked, patting his shoulder. “Take care.”

They parted without further word. Claire ventured into the forlorn morning to assess the damage of those still walking. Jessica, Foggy, and Karen were dead asleep at the tables in the living area of her home. Danny and Luke carried body after body to the side of the street in front of an abandoned candy store that went out of business almost as soon as it opened a few years back. Wanda smacked the back of Pietro’s head for attempting to steal a deadman’s pocket watch. Frank pulled Matt’s willing body towards the basement and locked the door behind them.

A few minutes later, Jessica sleepily threw a glass at the door, shocking the other two awake with the sudden breaking sound.

“Quiet him down Frank! We’re trying to sleep here!”

The raucous and needy grunts were muted, but in no way did they go away. Jessica groaned, placing her head back on the table, cushioned by her crossed arms. “Every fucking morning.”

All in all, the beginning of an average day in Hell’s Kitchen. 

**NIGHTTIME**

A night in Hell’s Kitchen following a riot was always calm. Always. Wanda didn’t know why. Part of her didn’t want to know, while another part irked with curiosity. Why did it become so calm? The people went about their business as normal, drank and fought in the streets in front of the  _ bars  _ that were poorly disguised as something else. They still howled in fury deep into the night. Still threatened and attacked one another. Why was it so calm?  _ How  _ was it so calm?

She doubted she’d ever know.

The moon was full, shining bright on their hellish burrough as smoke wafted high into the sky from the still standing buildings. Lanterns were lit in the street below, people gathered in a circle around two men scrapping in the middle. Shrills of laughter and whoops of cheers sounded through the area, filling the night with drunken reverie. 

Wanda sat on the window sill of her borrowed bedroom, wearing only Matt’s white shirt he gave her to sleep in, and watching the fight below with disinterest. She was good at fighting, great at it if one were to ask Frank and Matt, but she didn’t like it. To her, fighting was a necessary evil one must utilize in order to defend oneself and other people. Not a game or an excuse to gamble. Pietro thought it was a game, a really fun game that allowed him to pummel mooks into the ground while drinking the night away. 

Which is what he’s doing right now.

He was scrapping with some poor putz who was on his last leg of life. All the money he had was now on this fight, and Pietro wasn’t giving him any opening. He was old, worn down, and had a hunch that left him vulnerable to Pietro’s quick attacks. Wanda frowned, disappointed in her brother for his lack of mercy. Granted, nearly everyone else in Hell’s Kitchen would react the same way, but Pietro’s better than that. At least he should be.

“Your brother fighting again?” Spoke a soft, feminine voice.

Wanda glanced away from the fight, turning to look at the open doorway. 

It was Amy. Amy Bendix. A grifter by trade whose specialty was in forging papers and helping Jessica move people out of the city when the need called for it. Otherwise, she was a secretary who kept records for the  _ Nelson and Murdock _ law firm, _ Alias Investigations _ , and the  _ Rand and Cage Real Estate Agency _ intact and in order. Most of her days were spent replicating their important documents and storing them outside of Hell’s Kitchen due to the likelihood of a burning building. Other times, particularly with Rand and Luke’s business, she worked as a secretary who unofficially ran everything. She was precise, succinct, and good at her job. 

She was also Wanda’s dearest friend. 

She was a petite woman, small and thin with pale skin. Had curly dark blonde hair with hues of copper that would puff and stick out like a lion’s mane, leaving Wanda awestruck and amazed whenever the woman managed to slick it back into her signature braided bun for work. Her face was serious, a near permanent line between her brows from concentrating at work all day. Mouth small and plump, jaw soft, eyes downturned and warm. Blue like the sky. She was barefoot, and wore her white nightgown that just ended at her knees. 

Tucking locks of hair behind her ears, Amy moved to lean against the open window opposite Wanda, shaking her head at the scene below.

“So much anger. It’s a miracle it hasn’t burned right out of him.” She placed a gentle hand on Wanda’s shoulder, turning her gaze to her friend as Pietro’s cackling voice soared through the window. “Are you going to be okay.”

Wanda lifted her shoulders, then dropped them. Her intense gaze never leaving the scene below them. 

“He’ll come around,” Amy whispered, messing with a lock of Wanda’s straight, auburn hair. “He always does, for you.”

Wanda sighed, body slumping forward slightly, but made no other response. Pietro knocked the poor man down with an elbow to his back, and started kicking him in the side. The cheers rose at the sight, but Wanda’s disappointment only grew. 

Frank and Matt’s plan came as a shock to the crew when they revealed it after disposing of the dead. It’s one thing to help an innocent who just so happened to be the white collar Prince to the Butcher’s empire survive a night in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s a whole other thing to get in bed with the Butcher and use his power to change their neighborhood, or rather  _ claim _ the neighborhood. 

“It’s the only choice we have,” Matt had stated. Pleading with his friends and allies. “The Ranskahov’s are keeping Fisk alive by smuggling guns and information to him, information that could provide an opening for him to return and start another war with Stark that’ll level this city for good. The brothers need to be handled, and we’re the only ones who can stop them. We can handle ourselves in a pinch, but this isn’t some back alley fight. This is bigger than that,  _ they _ are bigger than that. We have the will and the gumption to get this done, but they have the numbers, the resources, and back up. If we’re going to beat them, we need the same.”

“Can’t we just loot their boats again?” Danny inquired. “It crippled them for weeks and slowed down their gun trade last time.”

“Too risky,” Frank shook his head. “We barely managed it then, and they had half the men they do now. If we do it again, we’ll end up dead one way or another.”

“What about tampering with their shipment logs like Wanda’s been doing? Send the wrong information through the appropriate channels?” Danny presses, gesturing towards his silent companion.

“In the small doses Wanda’s been tampering with, it’s more of a distraction than a dent in their work.” Matt answered softly. “It’s also dangerous in its own right. We get multiple people on it or try for bigger shipments, we’ll fall into the same trap as just looting the damn thing. In summary, too dangerous.”

“What if we got to Anatoly?” Karen proposed excitedly. “He hates Fisk. He can convince Vladimir to stop dealing with him?”

“Most of their profit comes from smuggling for Fisk,” Jessica had cut in with an exhausted voice, eyes drooping from lack of sleep. “The only thing that means more than Anatoly is a way to  _ provide  _ for Anatoly and any future family they might have. Vladimir won’t give up dealing with Fisk except for a bigger, better profit.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be the Starks?” Froggy cut in with a shrug. “I mean, they’re the biggest and baddest cats around. If we’re going to deal with them, wouldn’t this be the safest way? Convince them to offer that bigger, better deal?”

“No dice,” Frank interjected. “If The Butcher finds out anyone in Hell’s Kitchen is still dealing with Fisk, it’ll start a war all on its own. The whole city will be up in flames before dawn.”

“Even us?” Foggy asked, perplexed. “After what we did for the kid?”

“Maybe,” Frank shrugged. “No one can predict what the Butcher will do. Not even the Butcher.”

“Speaking of the kid,” Claire spoke up, “how would he play into this? What’s his role here?”

“He’ll be our contact.” Matt began to explain. “The middleman so to speak. He’ll convince Stark to help us with providing extra men and resources to make Hell’s Kitchen ours, and we’ll provide a safe spot for Peter should the need arise.”

“And become Stark’s puppets,” Pietro spewed, eyes brimming with fury.

“We’re not working for him-”

“Anyone that signs onto Stark’s brigade will work for him. We’ll be  _ owned  _ by him.” Pietro began to shout, kicking over the chair he was sitting on.

“Ain’t happening,” Frank promised, “ to us or anyone in our city.”

“Oh bullshit, Frank. Go fuck yourself-”

Wanda reached out and grabbed Pietro’s arm then, stopping his insults in its tracks. He had looked at her, eyes full of malice and jaw clenched painfully. She stared back at him stoically. Unafraid and unimpressed. 

_ Calm down, _ her expression stated,  _ breathe _ . Plain and clear to everyone in the room. 

He did breathe. Taking a few breaths, steadying his nerves and backing down. She nodded to the door, showing him he can leave, and he did. With a venomous look to Frank and Matt, muttering “traitors” harshly under his breath, Pietro stormed out of Claire’s home and joined the rabble milling about in the red stained road without another word.

The meeting, if one could call it that, ended shortly afterward with no more outbursts. No one objected to the plan as vehemently as Pietro, but not everyone was completely on board. Danny and Luke bowed out, stating they didn’t need that type of heat on them, but would provide help anonymously if needed. Apart from that, everyone else went along with it, including Amy once Frank phoned her and informed her of their plan.

“They’re right of course,” she had commented when Wanda arrived at her apartment at sunset. “If you play with the fat cats, you’ll have to get in bed with one of them just to survive. Let alone win.”

Wanda agreed, but no one needed to know that. Not yet. She saw where Frank and Matt were coming from just as much as she smelled their desperation. There was more at play here. More than just taking back Hell’s Kitchen from Fisk’s slimy grasp and keeping the place standing. It’s been Matt’s goal since he was blinded by a rogue attacker and his father was murdered. It’s been Frank’s since his family was butchered while he was off fighting the war. They’ve been trying to accomplish this for years and not once have they thought about allying with the Butcher. 

She wanted to blame it on the kid, Peter as Matt continued to correct. It would make sense. Dumb, naive boy running from something scary and ending up in a place that could be just as terriying. Maybe even worse. A kid who was the adopted child of the most fearsome Devil in New York. The Devil who now owed a favor to the Punisher and Daredevil of Hell’s Kitchen for saving and protecting said child. Of course the new desperation would come from that. Anyone with half a mind could put those pieces together. It would make sense if the desperation stemmed from this new, golden opportunity.

It wasn’t though.

No, the desperation began at the beginning of summer. It began when Vladimir Ranskahov found Pietro at the brothel where he and Wanda were temporarily staying to help their mother, and foolishly believed he was up for grabs. It began when Wanda  _ interrupted _ (one of the few times she wasn’t wearing her  _ Wayne _ disguise) and smashed a vase on Vladimir’s head. It began when Wanda stood toe to toe with the Russian gangster, looked him in the eyes without blinking, and bravely walked out of the room carrying Pietro’s shaking form. It began when Vladimir returned with his brother Anatoly the following morning, offering their sincerest apologies and a job working as their secretary. A job Pietro passionately declined on Wanda’s behalf. It began when the apologies and job offers continued to come over the course of the summer. 

It bloomed with Vladimir’s first marriage proposal when he followed Wanda and Pietro to the circus (another rare moment where Wanda wasn’t  _ Wayne _ ), and found out that Wanda was almost of marrying age. He and his brother spent the night with the Maximoff’s, proposing all the while and refusing to leave their sides no matter how many times the Twins tried to sneak away. Eventually they succeeded thanks to a sweet boy with a bad skin condition named Groot. He got his angry friend Rocket to distract the men while Groot helped them slip away at the back of the tent. He gave Wanda a flower, a daisy he plucked from the ground, blushing madly as he did. Wanda smiled, took the daisy, and kissed him on the cheek before leaving.

It grew when Pietro had another of his episodes just a week or so later. The ones that left him wild and frightened, running from ghosts and past memories from their terrible childhood. Vladimir found him and brought him to Frank, staying until Wanda arrived. He watched her take care of her brother, easing him away from the past and bringing him back to their world. He proposed again when she went to wordlessly thank him, shaking his hand instead. He brought her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers. “ Chto-nibud' dlya vas, moya zhena byt'.”

Wanda had furrowed her brows and pulled out of his grasp harshly, shaking her head fiercely before slamming the door in his face. It’s been a long time since she was in her mother's home of Sokovia, memories dim and faded from the beautiful scenery, but her mother tongue was as crisp as always. Thanks to her mother’s insistence on speaking their home language, she understood exactly what he meant.

_ Anything for you, my wife to be _ .

That was a few weeks ago, and Wanda hasn’t seen him since. She suspected Frank and Matt had something to do with it, or perhaps the bigger shipments from their smuggling operation has caused his focus to drift to something more demanding of his attention. Wanda hadn’t minded, but with what happened last night, the possibility of getting Stark’s support to root out the Ranskahov’s for good, and Vladimir’s sudden absence, she was starting to worry about what it could all mean for the future.

For her and Pietro’s future.

The old man had given up. Lying in the dirt like a useless carcass, sobs and tears escaping his defeated form. Pietro laughed, grabbing a mug from someone’s hand and raising it up high, inciting cheers from the crowd. His bare chest was covered in blood and dirt. Brown, curly hair sticking this way and that from sweat, and his bright smile tinged with bloody teeth. Apart from the blood in his mouth, the rest was not his own. 

His face was an open book. Any emotion, any thought, any secret or deception, would always be right there to be seen. Wanda always knew when a storm was about to rise, or a trick was about to be pulled. She knew when he needed to cry or to scream his lungs out. She always knew what he needed because it was right there. Written into his face and all the expressions he wore with it. 

Wanda isn’t like that. 

Her face was like a stone most days. Expressionless. Stoic. Firm. She’s been told her eyes were intense, piercing. Like a needle about to puncture skin. It made sense to her. She took it upon herself to always keep a lookout. To watch for danger. To observe and mark changes in behavior, for anything out of the ordinary. To listen and catch things other people wouldn’t. Add in her chosen muteness, and it would explain why she was viewed to be so intense. So, different from the rest.

So different from him.

They’re twins, and though they share the same likeness in their faces, they don’t look the same. He was tall, muscular, had dark curly hair that kept getting stuck in his eyes, and seemed faster than a bullet. She was small, appeared dainty, had wavy auburn hair that went just past her shoulders, and had startling eyes that Amy compared to jewels. Their dispositions were just as contrasting. Pietro was loud, buoyant, aggressive, and ruled by his emotions. Wanda was quiet, reserved, inquisitive, and insightful. Pietro’s a hot summer day while Wanda’s the ice cream that cools and soothes. He’s the sun that burns on the worst of days, yet warms on the coldest, while she’s the moon that provides light and guidance on the darkest of nights. He’s a wild man charging recklessly and thoughtlessly into any battle that arises, she’s the tactician who knows exactly where to go and what she needs to do to end the battle before it can start. He’s the burning light of day, and she’s the coolness of the dark.

And one day, they’ll be the death of each other.

Though Wanda’s hearing is great, she’s not infallible. She blamed it on the fight, the cheers raining away down below and through the open window, for the reason why she missed it. Why she didn’t hear, until it was too late, that she and Amy had a visitor. 

An uninvited, and unwanted visitor.

“It’s a right of passage, liybimaya.” Spoke a deep, gravelly, masculine voice that burst through the room like a knife striking stone.

The women startled at the intrusion. Wanda grabbed Amy, ready to pull her out of harm’s way. Amy gasped and reciprocated Wanda’s hold, ready to throw herself in front of her friend. They both laid their eyes on the intruder, unease rolling through them.

Vladimir was here, leaning against the threshold of the doorway with a vicious smirk, and wandering eyes. He was wearing a dark suit, hues of dark grey from what Wanda could see in the dim candlelight. Fabric shabby and indicating his workman style. He might earn steadily, but he wasn’t rich. His jacket and vest were unbuttoned and hanging open freely. His shoes and the bottoms of his pants were covered with mud, meaning he’s been to the docks tonight. No doubt sending out his latest shipments to Fisk and other benefactors. An opened silver flask was in hand and a cruel smirk lit up his expression, highlighting the scar he earned from a knife fight marked over his right eye. 

“What are you doing here?” Amy shifted a bit more in front of Wanda. “How did you get in?”

Vladimir didn’t so much as glance at Amy. All his attention focused on Wanda. “A man must stand up for his own, whether it be family or dignity or survival or love, a man must fight to keep what he has and to obtain what he wants. It’s what we must do. It’s how we prove our worth. That doesn’t change with age or sickness. We must fight, always.”

“How did you get in here?” Amy repeated, bravely stepping towards the intruder while Wanda glared intensely at him. 

He sighed, clenching his jaw in annoyance, “your brother broke the door to your building. Too heated up to care I suppose? He seems to be in quite a rage tonight,” he nodded towards the window. “Anatoly has seen it to be fixed, and has stood guard until my arrival. He’s on his way to inform your Punisher as we speak.”

“The Punisher who will skin you alive if you lay a hand on either of us-” Amy attempted to threaten, but Vladmir chuckled.

“Skin me alive? Not his way. If you want to scare me with your guard dog, you should have mentioned a gun, or his hammer. He can kill with anything, but knives are not his preference or specialty. You, his surrogate daughter, should know that.” He lifted the flask to his lips, eyes never straying from Wanda as he took a drink. “But you needn’t worry. I know better than to harm Frank Castle’s family, no matter if it’s born from blood or bond.”

“That includes Wanda and Pietro,” Amy returned smoothly, “not only myself.” 

Vladimir’s smirk returned. “I’ve no intention of harming them. Touching, however, I would very much like to do. Especially in a few months' time.”

A few months’ time. Wanda’s eyes narrowed. Her eighteenth birthday. 

“You need to leave-”

“And I will,” Vladimir interrupted, “once Castle arrives. Until then, why don’t you wait for him downstairs? I have fights to watch and a woman to speak too.”

“This is my home, and you will not dictate whether I leave or not.”

“This is your home,” Vladimir confirmed, “and your home has seen damage to it. Perhaps you should investigate it yourself before your . . .  _ charming  _ landlord finds out, and starts asking questions.” He took another drink, pushing away from the threshold and venturing deeper into the room. “The old man might be Frank’s pal, but with the climate of Hell’s Kitchen after what happened last night, I don’t think he’d take kindly to someone causing mayhem within his walls. Especially since he just lost everything he had against young Pietro in his fight. Understand?”

Amy’s back straightened up, mouth opening to retort him once more, but Wanda squeezed her arm slightly, stopping Amy’s comment in its tracks. The woman looked at her, eyes wild and bewildered. Wanda nodded to the doorway, signalling Amy to leave. Vladimir wasn’t going to leave, not without a fight or achieving what he came for. She could see that in his stance, in the way his eyes continued to linger on her without so much as a glance to Amy or anything in this room. He’s not leaving, and Wanda’s had enough fighting tonight. 

“Are you sure?” Amy implored, “I can call down to Pietro and he’ll be up here in no time at all.”

Wanda shook her head. If Pietro gets involved, it won’t end well and that’s being kind. She released her hold on Amy, giving her a reassuring smile before nodding towards the door once more. 

Though unsure, Amy sighed in defeat. “Alright.”

She grabbed her grey coat slung over a nearby chair. Glancing at Wanda over her shoulder, expression uneasy and reluctant, she walked out of the room without another word. Vladimir moved aside, giving Amy a wide berth as she made her leave, before moving behind her to shut the door. 

Now it was just them. 

Most of the light came from the full moon outside, but a candle was lit on the bedside table not far from where Wanda sat. It gave Vladimir a more ominous look, a devilish and evil stare growing with each step he took towards her. She eyed him carefully, but didn’t move. 

“When I was a boy,” he started, moving to lean against the window opposite Wanda, the place where Amy was just standing. “There was a woman I used to watch. She lived by the river and had two children. Boys no older than my brother and I. They ran wild just as we did, got into all sorts of trouble too. No one could tame them, nor could they control them. They were as they were, and everyone believed they would die before long. They were right. My brother and I saw to it.” 

He smiled at the memory, taking another pull from his flask. “She would bathe in the river everyday, and I would watch behind the trees. She wasn’t beautiful, wasn’t anything special, but I would watch her. I would watch as she bared herself to the land, and washed herself clean. As she sang her hymns and hummed under her breath. Dried herself off and dressed once more. I would watch, and be amazed.” He hummed, cold eyes moving to look at the rabble in the street. “She wasn’t kind, nor was she generous. No, she was cruel. Cruel for sport. Her boys never stood a chance of a happy life, just as my brother and I. She would hurt them for pleasure, lend them out to anyone who wanted a piece in the middle of the night. She would do all sorts of evil things to them, and to anyone who dared to challenge her.”

He shook his head slightly, thumb rubbing the lid of his flask. “It was hard to forget what she truly was, a demoness of a woman living out of pure spite, but I did find myself forgetting when I watched her bathe in the river. There, bare to the world, was no anger in her expression. No disgust or disdain on her face. It was just her, naked as a babe, washing the sin away.” He stopped, his smile shifting into a grin. “She was the first person I ever killed.”

His eyes shifted to Wanda, sudden and intense. Wanda held firm, refusing to blink or back down. She knows why he’s here. She knows what’s going to happen. He moved to sit in front of her on the window sill, causing her to pull her feet away as a result. She doesn’t want to touch him, especially since he was far too eager to touch her. Still, his thigh touched her toes and his hand reached to grab her ankle. She glared at him, but didn’t dare move when his fingers touched her skin.

“I can be a cruel man,” he admitted, tone deep and solemn. “To be in the position I am, to have lived through all that I have, cruelty is needed to survive. To thrive. I am not, however, cruel for sport or game. I’m cruel when it’s needed, and gentle when it’s not.” His dirty nails skimmed the inside of her ankle, a heavy breath escaping him. “I would not be cruel to you, Wanda. I would honor you, protect you, treasure you with all that I am and all that I have. I know you are displeased by my occupation, and my darker actions, but I am more than that. Just as your brother is more than this.”

Vladimir gestured to the fight below. To Pietro basking in the drunken praise as the old man lay in the dirt. Wanda flinched at that, fist clenching at the mere mention of her brother. He caught that, and smiled. 

“Do not fret, liybimaya.” He attempted to soothe, but her breath only quickened with sheathed anger. “Though your brother is wild, out of control like the brothers of my youth, he will be safe. You take my hand, you be my wife and my equal, and he will be my brother as well. My family. If there’s anything anyone in this Hell knows about me, it’s the lengths I will go to protect my family and to hurt anyone who dares to do the same.”

His hands traveled upward, fingers caressing her soft and sensitive skin as it rose from her ankle towards her knee. She didn’t move. She didn’t fight back. Not yet. His breath went heavier, deeper. Tongue flicking out to lick his lips. His body began to lean in, cold eyes shifting to her lips.

“I will keep him safe, Wanda. I’ll protect him just as I protect Anatoly. I’ll do everything in my power to provide for him, give him a good and honest life. All you have to do is be with me. Share my bed, take my name, let me treat you like the queen you are. Allow me to be your husband. Please Wanda, take my hand.”

The hand that wasn’t caressing her skin reached out, hooded eyes drooping with heated lust. He leaned in a bit more. This time, Wanda reciprocated. She moved forward, but not very far. She did take something, but not his hand. No, she took something else. With a speed that he wasn’t expecting nor was he prepared for, Wanda’s right hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed hold of his throat. 

His eyes popped open, lust forgotten as her thumb pressed oh so carefully on just the right spot of his throat. The spot that determined whether he could breathe or not. His free hand grabbed her wrist, attempting to pull her off, but it wouldn’t do any good. Her left hand shot out to stop it, then the foot he was stroking shot forward and kicked in him the-

A loud grunt escaped him, but it couldn’t be heard over the fight occurring below them. She pressed her thumb down harder on his throat, his eyes bulged even more. He tried to fight back, but he soon realized what she already knew. What she knew from the moment he dared to step foot in her friend’s room. He was at her mercy. She was in control. One wrong move, and she will end him. He’s not the true threat here.

She is.

“I think you got your answer, Vladimir.” A deep, rough and heavy voice emanated from the doorway. 

Frank.

Wanda glanced at him. He was breathing fast, which meant he rushed over from wherever he was to get here quickly. Matt must have heard what was happening. Anatoly would have taken his time, giving Vladimir as much as he needed to do whatever he could to win Wanda over. Frank nodded to Wanda, gesturing to the man in her grasp. She glanced at Vladimir once more, pressed down on her thumb, wanting to see him squirm just a moment more before finally releasing him. 

She threw him to the floor as she did, refusing to move from her spot to get away from the gasping man. Frank walked into the room, grabbed Vladimir, and pulled him to his feet. “Next time you decide to come into my daughters room, I’ll skin you alive per Amy’s request. Understand?”

“Perfectly,” Vladimir forced out, rubbing her throat with his dirty hands. 

Frank grabbed the man by the back of his jacket, and proceeded to force him out of the building. Before they went though, Vladimir glanced back at Wanda. She was hoping to see fear, anger, some sort of negative emotions that would be far easier to handle than his continuous proposals. Instead, he gave her a smile. A heated, salacious smile that filled Wanda with dread. He wasn’t going to stop. In fact, it seemed he was now going to try harder than ever to make her his bride. 

Once they were out of sight, Wanda sighed. Resting her chin on her raised knees, and shaking her head in annoyance. Why her? Why not someone easier and pliable? Why did he have to pick her? She didn’t know, and unfortunately had little time to ponder her inquiries when a sharp and playful voice suddenly emerged on the other side of the window.

“My dearest Wanda, you really know how to make a man’s night.” 

She lifted her head just in time to see Wade hanging outside of her window. His burnt and scarred face lit up with a happy smile and hopeful eyes. She smiled back at him, always happy to see her cherished friend, and moved aside so he can easily climb into the room.

“I see you turned down big old Vladimir’s proposal again,” he jested as he easily climbed inside. “Poor Vlad. I’m sure he’ll be sulking about it while your mom sucks his dick again.”

Wanda shrugged, agreeing with the odd mercenary that would exactly be how the night would turn out. Her mother’s a whore and loves to be one. Wanda took no offence to it as long as people knew her brother wasn’t joining the same profession. Wade helped make it known, another reason she couldn’t help but like him. 

“Meeting go okay?” He asked gently as he sat down on the window sill next to her. “Sorry I had to leave, I saw the Stark boy Daredevil and the Punisher were so hell-bent on protecting, and I just had to follow him. He’s so adorable. A fucking angel caught by the Devil’s grasp. You should have seen him Wanda, he was fucking beautiful. And gentle and soft. Oh, I just want to hug him and keep him safe. Who knows what those devils will do to him. They already made him faint when they brought him home.” Wade tsked, shaking his head. “Wanda, you should have seen it. The Butcher ripped his men to shreds, not literally, and may as well have thrown them all in jail. The Wolf became a kicked puppy! It was beautiful. Next time I tail them, I’m bringing you along.” Wade winked, smiling like a kid in a candy store, before hunching his shoulders in, and looking up at her in a coy manner. “Will you sing me to sleep? It’s been a long day.”

Wanda blinked, trying to unpack and assess all that he just told her. She knows she needs to talk to him about following The Starks and how dangerous it’ll be not just for him, but for everyone in Hell’s Kitchen if he were caught. She knows she needs to talk about how he shouldn’t be following sweet and innocent looking boys around just because he thinks they need to be saved. The last few times ended terribly, which meant they were all returned to their families or placed back in the orphanage, and Wade was left inconsolable for weeks. She knows she needs to talk to him, but found that right now she couldn’t. 

It’s not often Wade asks her to sing him to sleep. To be coddled and cared for by her. It meant he felt vulnerable. Exposed and in danger. Alone. There were so many things that needed to be addressed, but when Wade asks Wanda to sing him to sleep, nothing matters more. 

Wanda doesn’t talk to anyone. She has her reasons and doesn’t like to think about them. She talks when she needs to, but otherwise remains silent. That’s what she is, and what she does.

That all goes out the window when Wade asks her to sing.

So, with a brief adjustment that ended with both of them on the floor with Wade’s head in her lap, Wanda began to sing. Rubbing his shoulder and running her fingers across his scarred scalp, Wanda sang his favorite song. The song that got him through his voyage home after being scarred for life fighting in the war. The song that soothed him as the nurses treated him. The song that gave him hope during his darkest hours. That song that gave him dreams, and spared him from nightmares.

It kept her nightmares away too.

When Amy finally returned not much longer later, she smiled at the pair on the ground, both asleep and limply covered with the spare blanket as they held each other tight in their unconscious embrace. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! 😄
> 
> Also here is the song that helped inspire this work! Sea Shanty cover by Jonathan Young. 
> 
> https://youtu.be/8j616idQwcE


End file.
